Powers of Ten: One
by Zephyra
Summary: "Donna, ten people can keep a secret if nine of them are dead and you, the tenth, are living in a plastic bubble." (Second in a J/D series.)


Title: "One" (Powers of Ten Series)  
Author: Marissa  
Rating: PG-13  
Genre: Romance  
Summary: "Donna, ten people can keep a secret if nine of them are dead and you, the tenth, are living in a plastic bubble."  
Disclaimer: They're on loan from ABS.  
Archive: No sweat, just drop me a line.  
Feedback: Oh yes.  
Author's Note: Hey mathphobes, ten to the first (one) power is ten.  
  
  
Right now, exactly nine people know that Donna and I are a couple: Donna, me, my mother, her parents, Sam, Toby, Leo, and the President of the United States of America.  
  
CJ, however, is in the dark. This is a fact that is making Donna feel very guilty.  
  
But it is T minus one week until Election Day, and CJ's hands are more than full right now. To be fair, everyone is busy, but CJ is unimaginably harried right now. The members of her corps are pressing her at every corner with questions:  
  
"CJ, what if the President wins but is unable to serve his term?"  
"CJ, will the President be comfortable with victory if it means a good chance of Hoynes becoming President?"  
"CJ, what legislation will the President be pushing if he loses?"  
  
No one wants to add another worry to the burden she is already bearing. That having been said, however, Donna trusts CJ, and she wants to tell her quite badly.  
  
To be fair, I told Sam the moment I came into work on October 23. Donna and I had spent the previous night together, and I was on top of the world.  
  
Sam grounded me quickly. "Are you serious?" he hissed. "You and Donna slept together?"  
  
"Sam, we are together. Period. We're a couple. We're in love."  
  
"You couldn't have waited until January? Jesus, you couldn't have waited until mid-November?"  
  
I glared at him. "Who says we'll lose, Sam?"  
  
He sighed. "Josh, you've seen the numbers. I've seen the numbers. We'll pray, and we'll vote, but a victory for us would be a miracle."  
  
"Sam --"  
  
"Josh." His tone silenced me. "We're getting off-topic. The issue here is you and Donna. I know you love her. I know you won't hurt her. But do you really think this is a good idea? She works for her. I know you suck as a lawyer, but even you know the definition of sexual harassment."  
  
"I love her. As far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters."  
  
"Fine." He paused for a moment. Then, changing rapidly from a politician to a best friend, he said eagerly, "So how was it?"  
  
Women like to think that men don't have these conversations. They're wrong almost all of the time. "Incredible. Absolutely incredible."  
  
So that was my conversation with Sam. Our parents are delighted, of course, since they had already heard much about their child's new love interest, and all three, rather naive when it comes to politics, are convinced it is a wonderful idea. I told Toby, who had a similar response to Sam's, but I managed to convince him that we were being completely inconspicuous. Leo, on the other hand, merely said, "Don't hurt her. Don't ever neglect her." When I assured him that I never could, he moved on.  
  
The President looked at me, then asked, "Is this going to hurt us?"  
  
"No, sir," I answered promptly.  
  
"Do you love her?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Have you told her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Have you already received an ass-kicking from one or more of the following people: Sam, Toby, CJ, Leo?"  
  
"Yes." I would definitely call what Sam said an ass-kicking, and Toby's reaction could be construed as one as well.  
  
"Then go with God, young man." Then he, too, moved on.  
  
That was last week, and now Donna wants to tell CJ, but I can think of many reasons not to. For one thing, it's CJ, for the love of God.  
  
"I have to tell her," Donna insists, standing in my office in front of my desk where I am sitting. It's one o'clock; she is supposed to be on lunch break, but today she feels the need to confront me over this.  
  
"No, you don't have to. You want to."  
  
"She's my friend, Josh."  
  
"I know, but -- do you think she'd take it well?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then --"  
  
"Look," she interrupts, "I can't keep this from her. You don't keep secrets from your friends."  
  
"When did you and CJ become friends?" I ask, curious. I'm not being insolent; I honestly want to know. Sensing a change of pace, Donna pulls up a chair and sits down.  
  
"Back on the campaign trail. It was later on, when things were looking -- well, not good, but better than they had before. She and I went to lunch together. We split a huge house salad and a pitcher of ginger ale at some random dinette, and we talked."  
  
"About . . . ?"  
  
"You, some. And the President. About what we could do if we lost. And -- what we would do if we won."  
  
"Donna --"  
  
"Josh, she's my friend. My good friend. Besides, you owe her big time."  
  
This is news to me. "What does that mean?"  
  
"She said -- I mean, she hadn't known you for long, but -- she said that I was the best possible thing for you, and not to leave you if I could help it."  
  
I am knocked off my perch by this answer. After a moment, I ask, "Is that why you stuck around?"  
  
"No . . . I've been attached to you since the first day I met you. But it was good to hear validation from the Sisterhood. And when you're at your worse, Josh, it helps to have someone around who understands. After all, she's been friends with Toby for a long time."  
  
"Are you comparing me to Toby?" I squeak. God, I hate it when my voice climbs so high. I can't help it.  
  
"No. Well, yes, but only in the sense that you're both hard to stand sometimes."  
  
"That's -- hmm. I don't think I like that." Toby is brilliant, eloquent, and quick-witted. And yet, somehow, seeing myself as him freaks me out.  
  
"Tough. And I'm telling CJ about us."  
  
"Fine." I lean across my desk and kiss her. "If you want to, then you will. I know better than to try and stop you from doing anything."  
  
She smiles her thousand-watt smile, and I regret putting up a fight in the first place. She has every right to tell her friends about her relationships.  
  
That doesn't make me any less nervous, of course.  
  
~~~  
  
Josh gives me "permission" to tell CJ about us at a quarter after one. So, of course, by 1:20 I am in her office. She is sitting at her desk reading information about her next press briefing. She looks tired and worried, and for a moment I consider turning back, but I don't. I can't.  
  
"CJ, I have to tell you something," I begin, my voice less than steady.  
  
She looks up at me, and I see weariness etched in every line on her face. "Please tell me it's not a press disaster waiting to happen."  
  
"Well, it could be," I hedge, "but we're going to keep it under wraps."  
  
"Does it have to do with you?" she asks, half impatiently. She sounds like she's not in the mood for any sort of announcement, happy or otherwise.  
  
"Sort of . . . ."  
  
"Does it have to do with Josh?"  
  
"Yes . . . ."  
  
"Does it have to do with you and Josh?"  
  
"Um, yes. It has everything to do with me and Josh."  
  
"Donna, tell me you aren't about to say what you're about to say." Her hands are restless, shuffling the papers on her desk, and she glances down at her desk every two seconds. I feel more and more guilty by the moment. She is busy, and I am stealing her time out from under her feet.  
  
"Josh and I are a couple," I blurt out quickly.  
  
"I told you not to say it," she says, glaring at me over the top of her glasses.  
  
"I thought you might be happy for me," I say, almost whining, but not quite.  
  
"Donna, I'm happy on the inside, but out the outside, I'm a raving mad Press Secretary with an election in one week. One week!" At this point, she is in flip-out mode. I get the feeling of being in a cage with a particularly pissed panther. "I can't have this happening now! I can't have the Deputy Chief of Staff sleeping with his assistant when his boss' job comes on the line in seven days!"  
  
I reply quietly, but forcefully. "CJ, you're taking the most beautiful thing in my life and turning it into something sordid. Something wrong."  
  
"Well, it's not good! Maybe it's beautiful, maybe it's Last Tango in Paris, but it looks terrible!"  
  
"Can you stop being the Press Secretary for a minute and be my friend? Please?"  
  
She sighs, long and low, and takes a deep breath. "Donna, I think it's great that you're happy and Josh is happy. But why do you have to be happy together?"  
  
"Because he loves me, and I love him," I insist.  
  
She stops fidgeting and stares at me. "Did -- did he say that?"  
  
"What, that he loves me?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Yes." He said it to me exactly one week ago today, and many times since, and I almost grin at the memories.  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well -- well, OK, then."  
  
"What does that mean? 'OK, then'?"  
  
"It means . . . invite me to the wedding." She looks back at her desk, as if the conversation is finished. It isn't.  
  
"CJ!"  
  
She looks back up at me. "How many people know about this?"  
  
"You're the tenth."  
  
"Ten? Ten people know about this?"  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Donna, ten people can keep a secret if nine of them are dead and you, the tenth, are living in a plastic bubble."  
  
"CJ, we've kept bigger secrets than this."  
  
"What? What have we kept? 'Sagittarius'? Yeah, we kept that. For a while. But which do you think is a more appealing secret? 'Oh Bartlet, my Bartlet,' or 'Donna and Josh, sitting in a tree'?"  
  
"That's unfair."  
  
"Yes. Yes, it is."  
  
"So what do you want me to do?" I challenge her.  
  
"Ideally? Go back in time and fall out of bed with him. Seeing as how that's impossible, you could cool it until the election's over and done with."  
  
I open my mouth to protest, but then I realize it's not an unreasonable request. "One week? Fine. Done. Now can you be my friend?"  
  
CJ levels a gaze at me. "You're serious? No hanky-panky for a week?"  
  
"It's not a big deal." Even as I say that, I shiver, thinking about the cold bed in my apartment.  
  
Then she rises from her desk, walks to me, and enfolds me in an embrace. I am surprised, but I sink into her arms gratefully. "I don't want to see you or Josh hurt," she murmurs into my ear.  
  
"I know."  
  
"I don't want to see the President hurt."  
  
"I know, I know, I know," I reply, almost chanting.  
  
"I'm trying to light this whole thing" -- and I know she means the election -- "in the most positive way possible, but God, Donna, it's so delicate!"  
  
"We'll stop for the week, OK? Don't worry, CJ, I know how hard this is for you."  
  
"Thank you, Donna." Then she straightens, brushes off her clothes, and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "I'll see you around."  
  
"OK." I turn to go, but she stops me with a question.  
  
"So how was it?"  
  
Men like to think that women don't have these conversations. They're wrong almost all of the time. "Amazing. Unbelievable."  
  
"That's what I like to hear," CJ leers. "You know, Donna, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger."  
  
"Really?" I ask, my heart in my mouth. CJ is one of my few heroes, as well as my friend, and any word of praise from her is worth a dozen such words from my parents.  
  
"Yeah. You're delightful and delicious."  
  
I stare at her for a moment, then laugh and leave. Now all I have to do is tell Josh about my agreement with CJ.  
  
This isn't going to be easy.  
  
~~~  
  
"How did it go?" I ask Donna. She was in there for a while, and I'm a little worried.  
  
"Fine," she answers. She is deliberately avoiding my gaze.  
  
"Did she get angry?"  
  
"Do the words 'I'm a raving mad Press Secretary with an election in one week' mean anything to you?" she snaps.  
  
I wince. "Did she go into flip-out mode?"  
  
"Yeah, at first." She sighs. "Josh, I made a sort of deal with her."  
  
I am instantly on my guard. Did she agree to quit? Or to sign a waiver of some sort? "What? What deal?"  
  
"I told her we would stop seeing each other until the election is over."  
  
My heart skips a beat, and I sit down suddenly. "Wait . . . just for the week?" I stand up again.  
  
"Are we playing musical chairs?"  
  
"Donna --"  
  
"Oh, Josh, she was upset and anxious, and so tired; I couldn't say no to her!"  
  
"Donna, it's OK. I understand." I pause, taking it all in. "So . . ."  
  
"So," she begins, then she stops abruptly.  
  
I suddenly feel awkward in my own office, in my own skin. "So from this moment until midnight on November fourth, we're going to keep our hands off each other?" I try smiling, but then I realize I can't.  
  
"I guess so," she says softly.  
  
In that moment, as Donna looks at her feet miserably, I want to gather her in my arms and hold her until her unhappiness melts away. I almost move to embrace her, but I stop myself just in time. Then I ask, "Can I have one last kiss?"  
  
She looks up at me and smiles. "Of course, Josh."  
  
I take one step to close the gap between us and plant an innocent kiss on her lips. She returns it, and within moments we are desperately clinging to each other, and we are melded together; there is no space between our bodies whatsoever, and I can't remember being so happy and so sad at the same time.  
  
But then Donna, responsible Donna, wrenches herself from my grasp, gasping. "No. No no no no no. We can't do this. We cannot. I promised her. I promised."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry too." She looks dejected, and a funny clenching feeling takes residence in my stomach. Then she grins, and it subsides. "It was a hell of a last kiss, though."  
  
I grin back. "It's the old Lyman talent: seducing women."  
  
Donna laughs. "You hardly seduced me. You irritate the hell out of me sometimes, you know that, don't you?"  
  
"I hope it's not too often."  
  
"It's just often enough to remind me that you're fiery and passionate and all the other things I love about you."  
  
"Donna . . . as much as I'd love to talk about me some more, I don't think this is what CJ had in mind."  
  
"You're right," she sighs, and turns to leave.  
  
"A week can't be that hard, Donnatella," I offer, a little helplessness creeping into my tone.  
  
"We'd just better hope that ten people can keep this quiet for that long," she responds.  
  
"Ten people?" Considering this, I groan. "The best we can hope for is that the whole country doesn't know by next Tuesday."  
  
"Keep your chin up, handsome," she says, and then she is gone.  
  
And I am left to divide my time between running the country and counting down the seconds until I can hold her again.  
  
  
  
"So she won't sleep better alone,  
And he won't sleep better alone,  
No they won't feel better alone.  
They took the time to reflect  
Even as the competition is breathing every day."  
-- Pete Yorn, "Sleep Better" 


End file.
